


the same old blood rush with a new touch

by embellished



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embellished/pseuds/embellished
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb's pretty sure it's wrong to watch your best friend get himself off on the floor of your bedroom in the middle of the night. But he does it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the same old blood rush with a new touch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/10474.html?thread=6951146#t6951146) for the asoiaf kink meme.

Robb isn’t sure what wakes him.

He lies there, right on the edge of wakefulness, blearily trying to work it out, struggling to separate dream from reality. It had to have been something slight, he supposes – one of the dogs yelping outside, someone shuffling down the hall to use the bathroom.

Curled on his side, face pressed into the pillow, he hopes that he just imagined it and that sleep will swallow him up again. It certainly seems that way – he waits a long beat and the room remains completely silent, the quiet pressing in on his ears – but right when he's about to doze off a sound catches his attention.

It’s just a slight rustling of sheets, and Robb realises it must be Theon, on his mattress on the floor. He has nightmares sometimes, relics from his childhood that cause him to toss restlessly in his sleep. But he doesn’t like to call attention to them, so Robb never says anything. If Theon doesn’t think they’re a big deal, then as far as Robb’s concerned, they’re not.

Reassured of the fact that nothing weird is going on, Robb lets himself relax. He’s just drifting off when he hears the noise again. And then again. It’s strangely rhythmic, and there’s another sound underneath it – a kind of muffled _flack-flack_ …

With a jolt Robb realises what he’s listening to.

He’s glad the room is dark, because he can feel himself flush crimson. He’s definitely awake now, acutely aware of every shift, every sound, as Theon starts to pick up speed. With a sinking feeling Robb realises there’s nothing he can do at this point. It would be way too humiliating for him to say something – how would they even be able to look at each other in the morning? All he can do is wait for it to be over.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with what Theon’s doing. He’s a teenage boy and it’s totally normal. Robb does it – first thing in the morning or last thing at night or in the shower before dinner or, well, anytime really. And he knows it's not just him. His teammates are always talking about it in the locker room, joking about who’s in their spank bank. Hell, even Jon does it, which is a fact Robb will never be able to un-know, ever since that day Coach Cassel sent everyone home early from football practice and Robb walked into Jon’s bedroom without knocking. 

According to the horrendously awkward talk his father had given him years ago, everybody did it and it was nothing to be ashamed of. And that’s fine. It’s fine to acknowledge, somewhere vague and theoretical, that Theon occasionally likes to get himself off. But this is – this is something else entirely. This is Theon jerking off on his mattress on the floor of Robb’s bedroom, where Robb can hear every caught breath, every shuffle in the sheets, every slick slide of skin.

In an attempt to distract himself, Robb scrunches his eyes shut and tries to think of other things. Safe things. The science project he has to finish. Whether he needs new football boots. Possible strategies to beat Jon in chess. But it doesn’t work. Theon breaks into every idea, derails every train of thought, and Robb finds himself totally unable to get him out of his head. He wonders how close he is. He wonders what he looks like. He wonders if he’s done this before. 

That thought catches him. Theon spends half his time staying at the Starks’, surely he must have. Must have wanked himself off while Robb slept three feet away, close enough to touch. 

Robb doesn’t know how he feels about that. After all, you were meant to do this alone – or maybe with your girlfriend, if you were both into that. _Not_ in your best friend’s bedroom. That’s just not cool, and on the one hand Robb feels like Theon has seriously overstepped some kind of line.

But on the other hand, maybe they’ve hit some point in their friendship where this sort of thing is okay. Where they’re close enough that the ordinary boundaries just don’t exist between them anymore. The idea sends something like fierce satisfaction surging up through Robb’s chest. 

Out of nowhere Theon makes a kind of choked-off sound low in his throat, and Robb feels heat sparking low in his belly. To his mortification, he feels his cock start to harden, pressing insistently against the front of his pyjama pants. He wishes he could roll over, just a little; grind down into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure. But he knows he has to remain totally still. He has to keep up the illusion that he’s fast asleep and not some kind of pervert intruding on what should be a private moment.

He exhales slowly, quietly, and tries his best to ignore his erection. The little muffled noises are still coming from Theon’s bed and the whole situation is getting beyond awkward and Robb really doesn’t know why Theon didn’t just go to the bathroom for this. It’s late, and even in this house – where, admittedly, it is hard to get ten minutes to yourself – nobody is likely to walk in on him. 

But at the same time, a part of him – a surprisingly large part of him, actually – is glad he didn’t. Robb’s sure it makes him weird, and creepy, and just wrong, somehow, but he realises he _wants_ Theon here. He wants to hear. He wants to – he swallows silently – he wants to _watch_.

He opens his eyes a fraction, just enough to look through his lashes. He can’t see much in the dark room, but he can make out the silhouette of Theon’s body beneath the covers, one knee bent, his hand working quick between his legs. His head is tilted back against the pillow and he’s biting his lip to keep from making any sound. He can’t see Theon’s other hand under the drape of the sheet, but his imagination fills in the gaps. He pictures Theon’s long fingers tweaking one of his nipples, or maybe splayed on his stomach, or even reaching down to caress his balls…

Robb’s heart is crashing against his ribcage, his breaths are coming short and ragged and he knows that if Theon were paying attention it would be painfully obvious that he’s not asleep. But he’s not paying attention. He’s stripping his cock faster than ever, hips pulsing up into his fist. And then all of a sudden his whole body arches off the mattress, his free arm thrown over his face to muffle his moan as he comes.

After that there’s a long moment of silence, before Robb hears even more shuffling – Theon cleaning himself up, rolling over, getting comfortable. And he waits as Theon’s breathing slows, becomes deep and quiet and even.

As soon as he’s convinced Theon’s asleep, Robb shoves his pants down to his thighs. Wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock, he lets out a soft groan. His hips buck into his grip on reflex and, exhaling shakily, he starts to stroke himself, short and sharp and desperate. He smooths his thumb up over the head, collecting precome so he can move his hand even quicker.

Letting his eyes fall closed, Robb thinks of Theon’s hand on his cock; his fast, frenzied movements. And just for a second, he thinks of Theon's hands on his own dick and his hips stutter forward under the sheets.

He’s hit by the idea that maybe Theon will hear him, will wake just as Robb did and _listen_ , and the thought sends a surge of warmth right through his body. He pumps his wrist faster and everything becomes a blur of heat and friction and Robb barely even has time to register the tightening in his belly before he’s coming, orgasm shooting through him like an arrow.

Breathing heavily, it takes him a moment to come back to himself. And as the warmth ebbs away he starts to feel sick, a hard, cold lump rising up to stick in his throat. Rolling away from the sticky wet patch in his bed, he feels somehow hollowed out, ashamed and confused. What has he _done_? Where did that even come from?

Yanking up his pants and burrowing into the blankets, he refuses to consider it. Instead, he thinks about how he’ll have to get up early to take a shower. He thinks about how he’s going to manage to sneak the sheets into the wash without his mum noticing. He does not think about what he just did. He does not think about how he just came harder than he has practically ever, and he absolutely does not think about why that would be.

He simply makes a vow. _Never again_. 

And he tries to ignore the part of him that knows he’ll break it.


End file.
